Smoke’s eyebrows lift like he didn’t expect that from me. I dial Wrath. It rings once.
He answers. “Talk.”
“We found the van,” I explain, voice low. “White cargo. Dent. Property northeast. Looks like a house with covered windows. Grinder will send the pin to everyone.”
A beat of silence. Then Wrath responds, “Hold tight, man.”
“I’m not waiting,” I growl.
“You’re not going in alone,” Wrath snaps back. “Two minutes for Stud and Raff. Country Boy can be to you in four with my men. We’re ten out.”
“Ten is too long.”
“Miles,” His voice drops, iron-hard. “If you go in and they scatter with her, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
The truth hits like a fist. I hate it. But he’s right.
Smoke shifts beside me, restless. “We could at least get eyes,” he mutters.
Wrath hears him, maybe through the phone. “You get eyes. You don’t breach.”
I end the call, jaw clenched. We move through the brush on foot, keeping low. The ground is damp, soft under my boots. My breath sounds too loud in my ears. We circle wide, staying in the tree line. A light flickers behind one of the covered windows—like someone moved in front of a lamp.
My heart stutters. I focus on details.
Truck’s warm? Van? I can’t tell from here.
No dogs barking. No music. Too quiet. The house looks dead except the little light.
Smoke nods toward the back. “Shed door cracked.”
I glance. It is. A generator hums faintly somewhere, almost lost under the wind.
Then a tiny light, the glimmer of a cigarette being drawn from, the illumination brighter then dimming out until the next puff.
Voices on the back porch.
Not loud.
Not clear.
But men.
My blood turns to fire. I freeze, every muscle locking. Smoke’s eyes flick to me, sharp, asking if I hear what he does. I don’t answer.
Because I hear it again.
A voice. Muffled.
Female.
My stomach drops straight through the ground. It could be anyone.
It could be—But my body knows before my brain can prove it.
Danae.
Smoke grips my sleeve, hard, holding me back when my feet try to move forward on instinct.
